by Kristie Cook
I laughed out loud, a high-pitched sound that was just a little frightening, as I typed into my phone. “Crazy. Where else?”
I tossed the phone on the passenger seat, ignoring Mom’s replies. Once on the highway, I moved over to the far-left lane and floored the pedal. Speed. The faster, the better. That’s what I wanted. That’s what I needed. The speedometer held at ninety. It felt like a crawl. The loss of control at such high speeds usually scared the hell out of me, but I couldn’t go fast enough now. My Volvo sedan was designed and built for safety, not speed, which was why I had bought it. I’d wanted something practical for a mother with a small child. It had been perfect. Now I hated it. The car couldn’t give me the release I needed, so I headed home.
By then, a level of rationality had returned, and I wished I could hug Rina for insisting I use a pen name. Although the Amadis council originally wanted me to publish under Alexis Ames, they finally decided to use the pseudonym A.K. Emerson. I didn’t know why that particular name and, honestly, didn’t care much. No one but a small handful of people knew my real name, protecting my privacy, especially against incidents like today’s. The clerk might recognize the name A.K. Emerson or Kat Emerson, which I’d used back when I’d made public appearances, but he wouldn’t be able to match it to the name on the credit card. I just hoped he didn’t recognize my face. Otherwise, I’d be in deep trouble with my publicist, and I really didn’t have the mind to deal with her at the moment.
Chapter 3
Dorian, home from school by the time I pulled into the driveway, distracted me from my anxiety. I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening with him, Mom, and Owen. I watched as he and Owen practiced Aikido moves in the backyard, then we all went to the park and played with him on the equipment, like kids again. Dorian and I took turns pushing each other on the swing, then he crawled onto my lap and Owen pushed us together. We both squealed with laughter as Owen did underdogs.
Unable to help it, my eyes regularly scanned the area for the young stranger I’d seen earlier. I thought I saw him once, but he was gone too fast to know for sure.
“Tell me a story,” Dorian said later as he jumped onto his bed while I closed his window blinds.
“Hmm . . . about what?” I teased, already knowing.
“Dad, of course! How ’bout the boat trip?”
“Ah. Your favorite.” I sat on his bed, took a deep breath to settle my insides, and started the story with his dad’s thrill of fighting sharks.
At one time, telling these stories had been the hardest job of being Dorian’s mom, but it was absolutely necessary. I insisted Dorian knew as much about his father as I could tell him—to know him as a real person, not as just a name of some vague entity he never met. Although telling them had become a little easier over the years, they still tore at the pieces of my heart, but not as much as stirring up memories when I was alone. The stories provided a way to remember the love of my life and the precious time we had together without completely breaking down. Perhaps this was my answer—hanging on to him by sharing memories with Dorian, while letting go in other ways.
Letting go . . . my breath hitched at the thought.
“I’m going to fight sharks one day, too,” Dorian promised me, not noticing the choking sound in my throat. I swallowed the lump as he wrestled his stuffed shark and put it into a headlock.
“Yes, I believe you will,” I said, covering my laugh with a cough. “Now, do you want me to continue?”
“Yep!” He tossed the stuffed shark to the side, and I told him about the leather-faced man who tried to rob us during our honeymoon in the Keys. Knowing the story by heart, Dorian moved his hands as if he fought the guy and shoved him off the boat.
“Okay, it’s time to settle down and say good night,” I said after finishing the story.
I picked up the framed picture on Dorian’s nightstand. It was the only picture I had—the one Owen had taken with his digital camera at our wedding. The camera had been cutting-edge back then, but the technology seemed old by today’s standards, and the enlarged picture was grainy and unclear. But Mom’s cottage and the bookstore had been torched shortly after we left that fateful August, and all we had were the few belongings we’d taken with us.
The picture was mounted in an expensive silver frame. I had one just like it, lying in my nightstand drawer—if I left it out, on top of the nightstand, I could stay up all night staring at it and not get any sleep. I trailed my fingers over our beaming faces and then kissed the glass over my husband’s. Dorian kissed it, too, then embraced the frame in a hug.
“Good night, Dad,” he said softly. “I love you.”
I inhaled a jagged breath, my lungs feeling heavy and thick, as if liquid grief filled them.
“He loves you, too, little man,” I whispered. “And so do I. Very much.”
I held him until his breaths came evenly. I knew I should let him fall asleep on his own at his age, but holding him like this was the closest thing I had to holding his father. I would probably keep doing this as long as he let me.
As I headed for the door, two small lights in the window caught my eye. At first, I thought I saw a reflection. No, they’re outside. Two little fires. The dream from the other night flashed in my mind—the vampire and his red eyes. A chill ran up my spine. Then my pendant suddenly heated against my skin. I picked it up between my thumb and forefinger and glanced at it, then back up. The lights were gone.
I stared at the window. I had closed the blinds earlier. I thought . . . Had I done both windows? Surely, I had. So how was one open now? I rushed to the window, my heartbeat spiking. I peered outside. Nothing there, but Owen’s truck in the driveway. Not a creature stirred. No tree branches even waved in a breeze.
I let out the breath I’d been holding, checked the window’s lock, and closed the blinds. I watched them for what felt like several minutes. They didn’t move, of course. You’re imagining things, is all. Of course, that was all. No big deal to be seeing things. That wasn’t weird at all. Not irrational or anything.
I shook my head to clear it. The lights were probably just a bizarre reflection of headlights ricocheting off Owen’s truck and other surfaces. The blinds . . . I probably just forgot to close them. I held on to those sane explanations, feeling Swirly trying to creep in.
“You shouldn’t tell him those things,” Mom said as I stepped into the hallway, making me jump.
“What?” I asked, my brows furrowing.
“The stories about fighting. It only encourages him.”
“Oh,” I breathed as I shut Dorian’s door. “Well, he needs to know about his dad. It’s not like I have tons of stories to tell.”
I turned for my room, but Mom stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.
“Owen and I need to talk to you. Can you come sit with us for a minute?”
I could hear a slight strain in her voice, and I didn’t think it had anything to do with Dorian’s fighting. Something else bothered her. Probably my recent behavior.
I sighed. “Mom, I know I’ve been acting crazy. Crazier than usual, I mean. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I am really trying . . .”
She took my hand and tugged me down the hall toward the family room. “I know, honey, which is why we need to talk. It’s more important than you realize.”
Owen stood at the bank of windows in the family room, staring out at the darkness of the backyard. He seemed to be deep in thought—and not good thoughts. The corners of his mouth turned down, and his brows pushed together, creating three vertical lines above his nose. When he looked at me, the frown disappeared, but the smile replacing it looked more like a grimace.
Mom led me to one end of the sectional sofa and pulled me down to sit next to her. Owen sat on the ottoman in front of us as Mom took my hands into hers and studied my face. Her own expression looked concerned as she seemed to struggle with what she had to say. This was so unlike her.
“Just say it, whatever it is,” I finally said.
> She took a deep breath and blew it out. “Honey, the council is growing concerned.”
I nodded.
“Because I’m acting like a lunatic.” It wasn’t a question. I was well aware of my demented behavior, and now, apparently, so was the Amadis council. “Did that kid at the store figure it out and go to the media?”
“What are you talking about? I haven’t heard anything.” Mom narrowed her eyes. “Did you do something?”
“Um . . . no. Not really. I was just a little rude.” I didn’t feel like giving a full account. I was embarrassed by my actions, but right now I felt too much on the defensive. Something about their attitudes and their expressions bothered me. “Then did you and Owen tell the council—?”
Mom shook her head, cutting me off. “No, honey. We haven’t said anything. Not even to Rina. We know you’re going through something right now, but like I said the other night, I can feel the truth that things are changing. Sometimes they have to get worse before they get better, though.”
I studied her face and knew then the expression she held. Owen had the same look. It wasn’t the usual concern or empathy. They pitied me! The poor woman who couldn’t get on with her life. What did I expect? I’d been wallowing in self-pity for years, and they’d seen right through my pretenses. I tore my eyes from hers and stared at the black windows.
“What is it then?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. “What has them so concerned?”
Neither of them answered at first. I finally looked back at them. Owen leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.
“They’ve been asking about you,” he said. “How you’re doing . . . if there have been any improvements. They’re actually kind of . . . freaking out, really.”
“Why? What did you tell them?” Anger and a hint of hysteria edged my tone. I didn’t know much about the council—nothing, really—but knew they had no problem making decisions for us. Only Rina had the power to overrule them. Only the matriarch wasn’t controlled by them.
“Nothing. Nothing new, anyway,” Owen said quickly. “But . . .”
He looked at Mom, and so did I. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, while taking a deep breath. She opened her eyes and looked into mine.
“Honey . . . it’s about the next daughter. They’re getting anxious.”
“Daughter . . . ?” I asked, the word sounding strangely foreign because it wasn’t at all what I expected to hear.
“Yes. Your daughter.”
“What daughter? We don’t even know if I can have one.”
“Rina believes you will. I feel it, too. The council wants you to start trying.”
“What? Now?” I couldn’t believe what I heard. “But how? A daughter requires a father. Surely they know it takes two!”
“Of course they do, honey.”
“They’re hoping . . .” Owen cleared his throat, seeming to have a hard time spitting out what they hoped. “They’re, uh, hoping that you’re ready to . . . to move on.”
There came that phrase again, like a punch in the stomach. Move on. Which meant, let go. I flew to my feet and strode around the room. It was one thing to think about moving on myself. It was another to hear Mom voice the idea aloud. But hearing Owen say it . . . knowing the council had been discussing it . . . this was totally different. Who were they to decide when I needed to move on?
“Why the rush?” I demanded. “Why now?”
“We celebrated your twenty-seventh birthday last month,” Mom said.
I grunted. “Celebrate” wasn't exactly the word I'd use. More like “commiserated” another year gone by. Alone.
“The Ang’dora may only be fifteen or so years away,” Mom continued. “If you’re like me, though, it could be even sooner. In fact . . .”
She trailed off. I whirled on her.
“In fact what?”
She looked at me with her eyes narrowed and her head tilted, as though considering whether to tell me something. She even opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Then she just shook her head. “Nothing. Never mind. You just need to know that there really is a biological clock ticking, and the council is growing anxious. Remember how even Solomon had been demanding about a daughter? And that was eight years ago. They would calm down if they at least knew something was being done.”
I threw my hands in the air. “Like what? What am I supposed to do? Do they have some kind of in vitro clinic set up? Because that’s the only way anything’s going to happen. I won’t be unfaithful! What about the bond of our souls? The one Rina made a point about it being permanent and unbreakable.”
Owen grimaced, and Mom frowned.
“Not everyone believes anymore that you were true soul mates,” Mom said. “They don’t believe the bond is real.”
Another punch to my stomach. No, to my soul, right in the empty part. “I’ll show them what’s real!”
Mom held her hand up. “Not everyone believes that. But some do, and you should know that. In fact, you should know that Rina and I, and some others, don’t support any of this. If you are meant to have a daughter, if the Amadis is meant to continue under our rule, it will happen when and how it is supposed to.”
“We just thought you should know what’s going on,” Owen added.
I stopped pacing and leaned my forehead against the window, staring out at the backyard bathed in silver from the moon’s light. I appreciated their candor. They still had to protect their secrets until I went through the Ang’dora, so I hadn’t learned anything over the years. I hadn’t even asked, since the day I realized my feeble human mind couldn’t comprehend anyway. The day my world fell apart. But at least they shared this.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Alexis . . . you do need to remember something, though,” Mom said. “You need to understand this won’t go away. They will eventually increase the pressure. You are royalty, honey. You have responsibilities.”
Her words burned my ears, their meaning slowly washing over me, hot lava scorching my soul. I would have to choose. Stay true to my love, to my soul mate, remain a faithful wife no matter how long it took, even if doing so meant no daughter. Or assume my responsibilities to a society that depended on me for its future, on the daughter I needed to have, even if it meant breaking my vows . . . letting go . . . moving on.
The liquid fire scalded the edges of my wounds, making them throb with pain. Regardless of how much I’d been trying to convince myself that I needed to, I just couldn’t move on. I couldn’t let go of the hope that we would be together again. Just thinking about doing so in such real terms felt like sharp claws ripping at my inner core, tearing at my soul. It would die with that choice . . . and so would his. After all, if our souls were bound as tightly as Rina said they were, the death of one meant the death of the other. I could not do that to him. I owed him so much more.
I turned slowly. Mom and Owen looked at me expectantly.
“We’re all relying on you, Alexis,” Mom murmured.
“Well, then,” I said, “I guess we’re all fucked.”
I stalked off, slammed my bedroom door shut, and threw myself on the bed. I knew that was the wrong thing to say. Once again, I’d snapped because of my emotions. Emotions that were tearing me apart, ripping me in two. Right and wrong no longer mattered anyway. I couldn’t do anything without devastating consequences. To myself. To my husband. To my son. To our whole damn society. I had actually stated the truth.
That’s right. You. Are. Fucked.
I startled at the thought. It didn’t sound like my “voice”—the way I heard my own thoughts in my head. Though I’d just said the same thing to Mom and Owen, this was not me. Was it?
Who the hell else would it be?
Again, the voice sounded different, strange. But it was definitely in my head. It could only be my thoughts.
Of course it is. This is the real you. The one you’ve finally been letting out recently. The one who knows the truth and isn’t afraid to say it.
/> I didn’t understand myself. What the hell did that mean?
Think about it, Alexis. Who are you really? Some miserable wench who can’t get over herself? Too afraid to do anything? Come on, you know what you really want to do. Why hold back?
Again, I didn’t understand. Because I really didn’t know what to do.
Yes, you do. You know you can put an end to all of this. No more suffering. No more choices. No more council or Amadis at all, for that matter. And you won’t have to deal with any of it. You’ll be gone.
What? I covered my ears with my hands, as if they could shut out the internal voice. The thoughts sounded too much like suicide. I had never been suicidal. I couldn’t do that to Dorian, to my mother, to the Amadis . . . to him. Even if it were just a thin thread, I really did have hope.
Oh, give it up. There’s no hope. No hope for anything. Like we just agreed, you are fucked. All of you.
I would never kill myself!
Then don’t. You have other options, you know. You do have other family . . . remember?
I nearly screamed. Holy shit! What the hell was happening to me? This was a bigger mind game than Swirly had ever played, and my whole body began to tremble.
Hell. That’s what’s happening to you. It could be your home. We hold your desires right here. You can have it all with us. With them . . . nothing. With us, everything. Your soul mate. Your son. You don’t have to worry about having a daughter with us. We’ll love you and worship you anyway. You can be our queen. Your king is already here, waiting . . .
“Stop it!” I gasped aloud.
You know this is what you want.
“No!” I said, louder this time.
But the voice wouldn’t shut up. It kept taunting. The evil blood—that of my sperm donor, Lucas, the Daemoni’s most powerful warrior—coursed like an icy stream through my veins. I could feel it trying to take over. I curled into a ball, my hands still over my ears, my eyes squeezed shut, my body shaking uncontrollably.
“No. No, no, no!”
Yes.
“This is not what I want!” An electric charge filled the air. The hairs on my arms stood on end, and I heard a crackling sound around me. Again, the pendant heated against my skin.
